Disheartening Trust
by afinalchaotic
Summary: The story of what happens when a murderous Khajiit meets an odd, law-abiding Redgaurd, recently transfered to Cyrodill from Hammerfell as a Guardsman


First oblivion story, as I was paying a few days ago, the idea popped up into my head as I ran, once again, through the Dark Brotherhood quests. My favored race is Khajiit, and Shotherra is based off of my own cat, Cheshire, while Domalen, the Redguard, or_ Yokudan_ (in their language) is simply a top-of-the-moment-character, chosen because Redguard seemed to be the most structured in their ways about everything out of all of the human races, other than imperials, who I'm for one not overly fond of, two, it just wouldn't work very well if he already lived there before.

A small amount of history on both races, explaining why it is that I use some of the things I do, such as Shotherras seeming obsession with sweet foods, even going so far as the sugar glazed meats. Khajiit live in Elsweyr, a place a bit like Africa, and the name Khajiit, translating into something along the lines of "One who walks in the Deserts," or simply "Desert Walkers." One of the once things that they can grow there is something called Moon Sugar, which is like a weaker, less addictive type of _Skooma, _and is actually what the drug comes from. Not as addictive, it still is a little, and for generations, the Khajiit harvest and eat the Moon Sugar daily, giving them an extremely high love of sweets.

And now, a quick little bit on the different political groups in the Redguard society: There were originally two groups, the Crowns, who directly descend from the royal line of Redguards, the Totambo, and treasure the old ways and greatly dislike the imperials, which come and wish for them to change to meet what they think is proper. The other group is the Forebearers, who descend from the warrior side of the people, back when they first came to Hammerfell and took it away from the Orcs because their own home was somehow destroyed. Details are rather vague, but it is clear that Atmora was swallowed up by the ocean. At any rate, the Forerunners are more open-minded to change, and embrace the Empire of Tiber Septim. The third group that recently came out is the Lhotunics, who while valuing their own culture nearly as much as the Crowns, also respect the Empire's ways.

And now, if you are still reading thing long ass introduction, I thank you, for taking the time to read things that most people won't understand, reading some of them. That being said, I do not own any characters, lore, races or world. Hell, I probably don't even own the story itself. Now, on with the story.

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><p>~Shotherra~<p>

Shotherra Crept softly towards her target, walking carefully and softly behind his shadow, keeping distant pace with the un-suspecting High Elf. She knew him, inside and out, almost better than he knew himself, as if he had been one of her litter-mates. After all, what joy was there in killing a stranger, someone you knew nothing about? A bitter taste, that. No, better to take her time, to research the target, to get to personally know them, to become their friend. Another day or two, perhaps, to let the sweetness of the terror that would surely come to inhabit his eyes soak up the trust and friendship just a bit longer. They were always so much more surprised, scared, when someone they considered to be a friend slit their throat with a silent snarl, or a heated laugh, than they were if they simply fell dead, or some assassin jumped around a corner in their homes. She could only wish that every contract was like this: open to personal flair. Oh, she did hate bitter things.

As she slunk calmly along behind the Elf, slowly sliding farther away from him, she shivered. She wanted him. She wanted to roll in the ecstasy that was his life-blood, feel the life slip from his still-warm body, and see the never-ending pit of agony that grew of fear trapped forever in his eyes, knowing that it was all because of her. A true pity that eyes simply did not keep well after the first few hours they were removed from the body, Even the fear waned. No, she couldn't stand to wait that long. Not a day, not two. Now. This hour. Grinning, she sprinted up to him, that Cheshire-Cat smile stained to her lips, her black markings giving that smile a twin. She twisted her arm around him shoulders, as ones good friend would do, and smiled at him, barely stopping herself from laughing at the as he jumped, then as he saw who it was, relaxing, and smiling at her, accepting her as a good friend, even inviting her over for dinner. Oh, yes, this would have to be just what she was looking for. Soon that sweetness that boiled from his death would fill her as her Dread-Father, Sithis, smiling cupped the agonized soul in his terrible and loving hands, a sweetness only to be topped with her peoples cherished Moon Sugar. And as for the murder itself? It might be almost as good as sex.

~Domalen~

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><p>From the day he was born, it seemed, Domalen knew that somehow, he was different. No one else saw at first, and it wasn't until he hit his Twelfth Name-day was it that he saw how, when the exotically beautiful creature strode through Sentinel, walking past him on the balls of her feet, tail swishing from side to side with the swaying of her hips, twitching in irritation at the insults that the Redguards taunted her with, new taunts springing up around her like worms in the rain. He had never felt his heart beat that hard, or felt himself stare, wide-eyed before, or had never felt his breath catch in the same way as when her emerald eyes landed on him momentarily, watching as those silted pupils danced back and forth, smaller and wider with the shadowed sun. Everyone else called her Furlicker. He had just felt sick, with disgust or rage, he did not know. All he did know was that he wanted to slit all of their throats open for their taunts.<p>

Yet, it took three years for what had been bred into him, and forced into his head from childhood to really sink in: he was only supposed to be attracted to his own kind. Yukodan blood was sacred, his mother had always ranted at him before he had even understood what words meant. She had wept every time he had drawn the sleek Khajiit forms. Of course he had stopped that years ago, keeping his fantasies private. That, as it seemed, was a life-time ago. For years, he had managed to hide this…corruption. That was the word the doctors had used for it. Hid it well, and became one of the elite warriors, known throughout the world as some of the best fighters, taking up an honored station at Sentinel. He had trained and hidden most of his life, smugly, he thought to himself, "Not even a master thief could match me… I put their shadows to shame." Of course, a few of his oldest friends did know. There was no way to hide it from them, seeing as they had been with him when he had first been learning of his disease, and had trained with him daily since childhood. They, of course, kept their mouths shut, smart of them, seeing as he was the most skilled in their unit and would not only make them wish for death daily, but make what remained of their lives a living hell. Even Roderick, a Crown, wisely kept the secret stiffly behind his teeth. Yet, he could feel the disappointment that radiated off of even the Forbearer's when he was near. But, as the stars had marked his birth well, they stayed clear of insulting the Warrior. In every other way, however, he was pure Redguard, the Yokudan blood singing blue and strong in his veins. Which, of course meant that he was too proud to openly admit that he had faults, and was quite fiercely independent. But he loved his people and his land, so serving his place in the ranks of the warriors of Redguard was no real problem. The problem, it seemed stood before him. And what this problem just so happened to say finally caught his attention.

"You're sending me WHERE?" he attempted not to scream, and of course failed miserably. His commander simply raised an eyebrow, and a smirk twitched just on the edge of his lips. It took everything that Domalen ha not to wipe that smirk from his face. And most of the reason he didn't anyway was that he was too stunned to even lift a finger.

"Did I not make myself very clear? I swear, some people just can't bring themselves to listen, even when a superior gives 'em direct orders. Fine, I will say this once more, and only once. You're lucky that these orders came from high enough that I can't even consider suspending you until you've learned better. 'Be too much of an insult to 'em. You are being transferred. To Cyrodill, to prove to that idiot, imperial pigs that we aint got any bad intentions for 'em. Damned swine they are. You, and some of your Forebearer-Imperial-loving ilk get to go live with the scum. Let's see if you don't come back a crown, 'eh?" the man actually cackled as he began to walk away. Slowly walking away, Domalen felt something that he had not felt in years. Fear. He wanted to puke.

~Shotherra~

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><p>Shotherra sighed regretfully as she carefully swept the last bit of blood that coated her dagger, Sufferthorn, onto the previously spotless linens of what used to be a High Elf. Empty eyes stared up at her, fearfully, mournfully.<p>

"I know," she coed at the corpse, "I should have waited." She very nearly laughed, but quickly caught herself. If she kept up like this, people would think that she was insane. She hoped that she wasn't. it wouldn't impede her much, given that if she was, she was used to it already, it simply might make some of her work harder. It would be more difficult forcing people to think that you were their friends if you were so clearly mad. Then again, she enjoyed a challenge. Leaning an arm onto the table, she grabbed one of the still-hot sweet rolls, and slowly sunk her fangs into the bread. She grimaced slightly at the flavor, and spread honey over the top of the remaining roll. Much better. These people had no idea how to properly cook anything, it would seem. Didn't even coat their meats in a sugar glaze. She shook her head, and surveyed her work. Nice, cleanly done, only with minor bleeding that even the most willing subjects couldn't help. And they were willing; by the time she was done with them.

Licking the last of the sticky crumbs from her claws, she cracked open a thin widow, and leapt out, rolling across the soft grass beneath her, and gracefully sprang to her feet, sinking deep into the shadows, glancing around to see if anyone was around to see. Bad business to be seen coming from the victims home, after all. She almost wished someone had seen her.

Sighing again, she walked calmly away from the glorious home. She really wished that she had waited. It wasn't even close to the ecstasy of sex.

And with that, I conclude my first chapter, which I wrote late last night or early this morning, depending on how you see it. Anyway, I will update this when I have a next chapter all planned out, not that I suspect anyone cares. If on the off-chance, someone actually enjoys the story, and wants faster updates, review for me, and I will work it into my very boring schedule. damn, this is much shorter than it should be... i'll be sure to fix that in the future.


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